The Art of War Read Online Free PDF Page B

him, then who?
    There was an anguished cry from within the room. He recognized it at once. It was Ta-hung! He turned and rushed inside.
    Ta-hung looked up at him as he entered, his face a window, opening upon his inner terror. He was leaning over his father, cradling the old man’s head in the crook of his arm.
    ‘Look!’ he called out brokenly. ‘Look what they’ve done to him, the carrion! His ears! They’ve taken his ears!’
    Hung Mien-lo stared back at him, horrified, then turned and looked at Sun Li Hua.
    Any doubts he had harboured about the Master of the Inner Chamber were dispelled instantly. Sun stood there, his mouth gaping, his eyes wide with horror.
    Hung turned, his mind in turmoil now. His ears! Why would they take his ears? Then, before he could reach out and catch him, he saw Ta-hung slide from the bed and fall senseless to the floor.
    ‘Prince Yuan! Wake up, your father’s here!’
    Li Yuan rolled over and sat up. Nan Ho stood in the doorway, a lantern in one hand, his head bowed.
    ‘My father?’
    A second figure appeared behind Nan Ho in the doorway. ‘Yes, Yuan. It’s late, I know, but I must talk with you at once.’
    Nan Ho moved aside, bowing low, to let the T’ang pass, then backed out, closing the door silently behind him.
    Li Shai Tung sat on the bed beside his son, then reached across to switch on the bedside lamp. In the lamp’s harsh light his face was ashen, his eyes red-rimmed.
    Li Yuan frowned. ‘What is it, Father?’
    ‘Ill news. Wang Hsien is dead. Murdered in his bed. Worse, word of it has got out, somehow. There are riots in the lower levels. The Ping Tiao are inciting the masses to rebellion.’
    ‘Ah…’ Li Yuan felt his stomach tighten. It was what they had all secretly feared. The War had left them weak. The Dispersionists had been scattered and defeated, but there were other enemies these days; others who wanted to pull them down and set themselves atop the wheel of State.
    He met his father’s eyes. ‘What’s to be done?’
    Li Shai Tung sighed, then looked aside. ‘I have spoken to Tsu Ma and Wu Shih already. They think we should do nothing. That we should let the fires burn themselves out.’ He paused, then shrugged. ‘Tensions have been high lately. Perhaps it would be good to let things run their course for once.’
    ‘Perhaps.’
    Li Yuan studied his father, knowing from his uncertainty that this was a course he had been talked into, not one he was happy with.
    The T’ang stared away broodingly into the far corner of the room, then turned, facing his son again.
    ‘Wang Hsien was a good man, Yuan. A strong man. I depended on him. In Council he was a staunch ally, a wise counsellor. Like a brother to me. The death of his sons... it brought us very close.’
    He shook his head, then turned away, suddenly angry, a tear spilling down his cheek. ‘And now Wang Ta-hung is T’ang! Ta-hung, of all the gods’ creations! Such a weak and foolish young man!’ He turned back, facing Li Yuan, anger and bitterness blazing in his eyes. ‘Kuan Yin preserve us all! This is an ill day for the Seven.’
    ‘And for Chung Kuo.’
    When his father had gone Li Yuan got up and pulled on his robe, then crossed the room and stood there by the window, staring out into the moonlit garden. It was as his father said, the Seven were made much weaker by this death. Yet Wang Hsien had been an old man. A very old man. They would have had to face the consequences of his death some day or other, so why not now? Wang Ta-hung was weak and foolish, that was true – but there were six other T’ang to lead and guide him. That was the strength of the Seven, surely? Where one might fall, the Seven would stand. So it was. So it would always be.
    He turned and looked down. There, on the low table by the window, was his bow, the elegant curve of it silvered by the moonlight. He bent down and lifted it, holding the cool, smooth surface of the wood against his cheek a moment. Then, abruptly,